


Love and Trust

by skyenapped



Category: White Collar
Genre: Drabble, Fluff and Angst, Love, M/M, Trust, crackfluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyenapped/pseuds/skyenapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Still slowly archiving my ff.net stuff over here.</p><p>This was a '3-in-the-morning one-shot crack!fluff' I wrote a while back. 3/23/10. Mostly because I was, and still am, intrigued with the contradictions in their relationship - there's all this bonding and martyring and yet... Neal's still kept on a leash. </p><p>WC ~700. Un-beta'd and all that. Commence.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Love and Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Still slowly archiving my ff.net stuff over here.
> 
> This was a '3-in-the-morning one-shot crack!fluff' I wrote a while back. 3/23/10. Mostly because I was, and still am, intrigued with the contradictions in their relationship - there's all this bonding and martyring and yet... Neal's still kept on a leash. 
> 
> WC ~700. Un-beta'd and all that. Commence.

*

 

Neal's apartment gets quiet and dark and creaky at nighttime, and sometimes it reminds him of a prison cell. Perhaps for that reason alone, he is grateful for Peter's company, even if it means they're arguing. Supposedly he should be accustomed to quiet, dark places for all the time served for his less-than-genius thieveries, but whether he is or not, it doesn't make them any easier to endure. Sometimes he thinks the sheer solitude of prison - the overbearing isolation - is what was worst.

Peter's voice draws him sharply from his thoughts; he's still half-sitting up in bed, leaning against the frame, while Neal is restlessly pacing the room in lieu of an answer. They've been arguing about a recent case requiring another undercover stint, and granted the last one didn't go so well, Peter is adamant that Neal not get involved. After all, he's supposed to be using him for his insight, not as a sacrificial lamb. Of course, without him, the case will likely go cold and be left to yellow in the FBI's filing cabinet under letter "G", but Peter doesn't care about that as much as he does Neal. And Neal, who is more acclimated to those aforementioned dark prison cells than he is to anyone really giving a damn about him, is confused and somewhat annoyed by this protectiveness, and he's vocal about it as he paces, which leaves Peter to dig up a painful memory in order to make his point.

"Did I ever tell you why I was working solo before I got you out?"

"Because no one could stand you?"

Peter gives a small smile, "No."

"Enlighten me, then."

"I used to have a partner. Sniped by a suspect while he was working U/C. Worst day of my life."

I'm sorry," Neal's voice is soft. "But this is a jewelry heist, not a drug lord ring or anything."

Peter leans forward and his voice climbs a few concerned octaves. "Yeah, but, after he died I swore to God I would never get another partner. Because I didn't want to get attached to anyone just to end up losing them. I thought you would be simple. I thought I'd keep you around, I'd close some cases, I'd send you back. But it wasn't that easy. I messed up."

Neal notices the pain in his voice and edges closer, finally sliding in beside him and leaning into the pillows.

"I screwed up, and it's too late. I'm  _already_  attached; I  _already_  care. So all I can do now is make sure you don't get killed."

They're both quiet for a few minutes; Neal nodding silently as he realizes the valid concern behind Peter's worry. It's not until he quietly says, "I already love you," that Neal finds words.

"How can you love someone and not trust them?" he asks, his eyes suddenly glossy.

Peter almost says,  _I do trust you,_  but stops himself. He can't lie. Instead he explains, "They're two different things, Neal."

"You can't have one without the other," Neal persists, shaking his head, leaving them in silence again, while he battles somewhat successfully with the tears threatening their presence in his eyes, and while Peter stares, conflicted, down at the ankle monitor, still cinched securely around Neal's ankle. He isn't sure if he trusts him; at least not that much. Yet, he knows that he loves him. He recognizes the hypocrisy of how he feels.

Finally he decides that whether or not the two feelings are mutually inclusive, he's going to pick one of them -- the one that matters most. According to Neal, if Peter doesn't trust him, he doesn't love him. So in one swift motion, he swings out of bed and returns with a pair of scissors. After gingerly severing the bracelet, he sets it on the table beside the bed and climbs back in.

He doesn't know if Neal will still be beside him in the morning. He just knows he'll still love him even if he isn't.

 

*

 


End file.
